The Wrong Man
by PanicButton
Summary: Emily has a late night visitor from her past. It's the start of a friendship she's not going to fall into willingly. Rated for language and adult theme. Prentiss/OMC
1. Chapter 1

_Nobody can be as agreeable as an uninvited guest: Kin Hubbard._

* * *

One of those days when you're glad it's over and you're back home, standing with your back pressed against the cool wood of your door and you don't have to leave again until the following morning. A whole evening to yourself.

Emily let out a long sigh, pressing the back of her head against the door. A reminder that this was home. This was _safe_ no need to do anything but stand and take those long deep breaths which come with such satisfaction at the end of a long day. She pulled off the dark grey jacket she was wearing and slung it up on a hook on the wall, rubbing her hand over her nose as she did so. There was a smell. She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth. She'd spoken to the girl who came in to clean. She had told her quite firmly, not to smoke when she was working here, but it seemed that again… again (!) she had done exactly that. Did the girl really think that the smell wouldn't linger? Emily coughed into her fist and licked at her lips as she walked down the short passageway to the kitchen. Coffee was needed. Needed very much. Though the day had not been overly exciting, it had been long and it had dragged somewhat and that had made the need for a decent coffee all the more necessary. She kicked off her shoes, pushing them to the side, under the coat hook and walked onward, elbowing open the kitchen door, where she then just stood and ground her teeth for a moment. There was a smell of coffee. Someone had been here, smoking and drinking coffee in her kitchen. This wasn't the way Emily wanted work done in her home when she wasn't there. She didn't expect the girl to make herself so damned well at home! A coffee mug sat there on the draining board. A spoon was laying in the sink. Really, if you're going to take liberties, you would think they would have cleaned up afterward. Cigarette ash. On the counter. This was not good enough, but it was late now. First thing tomorrow, Emily had all intention of calling the agency and telling them exactly what she thought of this service. The jug of coffee was still warm, warm enough for now. Emily was too angry to pour it away and make some fresh. She pulled a white mug out of the overhead cupboard and after adding some sugar, she poured in the coffee.

So Emily was in a bit of a bad mood when she walked from the kitchen and into her lounge area. A mood which was low enough for her to just stand and blink at what she could see. Not the cleaning girl. That wasn't who was there sitting on her red upholstered armchair. It wasn't the girl smoking and flicking, or more, letting the ash fall of its own accord, onto her wooden flooring. It wasn't a female of any description sitting there with a bottle of red wine and a grimace which might have meant to have been a smile.

'What the hell?' Emily managed to say. 'Who let you in?'

The grimace faded to a smirk. 'You really think a lock can keep me out? No one let me in. I let myself in. I could give you some hints on security, though, if you wish?'

'Out!' Emily slammed her mug down onto the coffee table, sloshing some over the edge and onto the old oak. 'Get the hell out!'

'You've never been much of a host, have you, Princess?'

'Get the hell out!'

But he was picking up her mug and securing it on a coaster, pulling something out of a pocket and wiping up the spillage. 'We need to talk.' He spoke as he cleared the mess.

A gun was in Emily's hand before she even realised that she was pulling it. 'I'll fill you with holes.' She snarled at him.

'That will do nothing, but get my blood over your soft furnishings. I'm not leaving until you've heard me out and you are not going to kill me with your little gun, princess. Sit down and calm. I'm not here to hurt you. You would know if I was. You'd be hanging from your coat hook or be nailed up against the wall. No, Emily… put that down and don't bother with the phone either. Handy gadget. Blocks the signal. Just sit down and listen to what I have to say.'

Emily, for now at least did what had been suggested, she holstered the gun, but at the same time pulled out her phone and stared down at it for the smallest of moments. Enough to tell her that she wouldn't be calling out on it. Not yet. 'There is absolutely nothing I want to talk to you about, and stop calling me Princess. What is _wrong_ with you? What makes you think you can just let yourself in my home and flick ash on my floors? What is wrong with you?' She repeated.

'Sit. Please sit. Don't you think that it's much harder to remain angry with someone when you're seated? Emily, Emily…'

'What?' She sat on the arm of the couch. 'What makes you think I don't want to be angry with you?'

'There has been a lot going on in our lives where we keep being pulled back to each other. It's not something I particularly planned, it just seems to sort of happened. I could get up and walk away, but that's not going to solve my problem and it's really going to keep you curious, don't you think? Could you live the rest of your life and not wonder why I paid you a visit? There is so much you could ask me. There is so much I need to talk to you about. A case you were on not so long ago. A murder. An abduction… some drugs going missing… all that crap which I'm sure if we sit here, the pair of us, and we discuss it as two adults, because we certainly are that, then… fuck's sake Emily. You got someone arrested and I desperately need the charges dropped or changed or something, anything… sort it, babe, because I don't want to have to go in and kill a load of people and have you chasing me like I'm the one who did something wrong, when in actuality you arrested the wrong whore.'

Emily slid off the arm of the couch to seat herself on the green cushion. 'Arrested the wrong whore? I have no idea what you are talking about.'

'A month or so ago, you and your team took it upon yourselves to arrest a young man going by the name of Taras Titov. You got the wrong man. It may have seemed as though you got the right one, right place, wrong time… blood, and that look of guilt, but no, it was the wrong person and Taras is not the sort of person who is going to cope well with a life being locked away. I'm sure you noted his gentle disposition, at least you should have done had you been doing your job correctly, but Taras is not the person you should have pointed your fingers at. You very much arrested the wrong whore. You arrested my whore, you see? Can you see where this is going, slowly… it's going slowly, Emily, I'm giving you chances here to jump on in there – verbally – and tell me that I'm wrong. You're not allowing me the chance to tell you why you're so fucking wrong!'

'Floyd.' Emily sighed. 'Mr Titov was arrested, as you pointed out, he had blood on his hands. Actual blood. He admitted it was him. He virtually threw himself at us. I thought it strange at the time that someone would give up the chase so willingly. Not that there was much of a chase. Mr Titov seemed very willing to come with us. I think I understand better the reason why that was. Now. Now that you have implied some sort of connection with the young man.'

'Doesn't mean he's the right person. He's not. I understand, fully, the eagerness to keep him locked away. The crime committed was vile. The perp is still out there though. He's going to repeat the offense. You're going to look pretty fucking stupid then, are you not? You will. You surely will. I will ensure that you will look stupid. I will contact the press and I have a big mouth when the need is there. Give me Titty, back and I will assist you in catching the right person. I can't do my job with Tits, if you have him locked up away from me.'

'Not going to happen.' Again Emily looked at her phone. 'Unblock my phone.' She snapped at him.

'Now that's not my doing. You need to talk to Sam about that. He's the technical one amongst us. I'll have a word with him when I get home, and when that happens, you will contact Rossi, or Hotch or whoever it is you need to contact and you will tell him that you have it on good authority that Titov is the wrong person. You will get him released. If I can't do my job, then I am an unhappy bunny. You won't like me when I'm unhappy. Things have been going so well between your lot and me and my lot. I have kept right away from you and I've not caused you any problems. Actually most of the time I've not even been in this country. I've travelled a long way to make this house call. Em… my dear… fancy some fun? The pair of us, just us.'

Emily stood, snatched the bottle of wine from Floyd and walked from the room. She was not going to try to get Titov released. It was not possible, even if she wanted to. 'I'm going to make some fresh coffee. I want you gone by the time it's made.' She spoke through the open door. 'If you're not gone, then I will leave and I will report this. Understand? I don't know what your connection with Titov is, but it's not something I want to know about.'

'Oh, I was fucking him. Regularly. Very regularly. And very sweet it was too. I have learnt to move on. Never thought I would! Thought I had Spencer etched into my brain forever, but it seems not. I am very capable of moving on and my grieving process was wild and alcohol full and drug fuelled, but look at me Emily! Look at me. I have recovered. I've moved on. You see being what and who I am…' He shrugged as he stood there watching Agent Prentiss washing out the coffee mugs… 'I admit that it was painful, but fuck enough whores and eventually you move on. You recover. You look pained, Princess, you should try it. You should come with me and have an orgy. Sam will oblige… but maybe he's a bit young for you.'

'Sam? We are talking of Sam Trent? Your son?'

'He's not my son. No… but yes, that's who I mean. He really has no objection to putting his dick in cunny. He'll entertain you – if you pay him – have to admit that he's a bit of a slut, but he's clean.' Floyd nodded. 'You look offended by the offer.'

'Offended is the wrong word.' Emily said. 'Revolted is closer to how I am feeling.'


	2. Chapter 2

2

Sam was sitting alone at home, fiddling with the TV remote and chewing on the skin inside his bottom lip. Floyd had gone missing and his only option was to go out himself and look for him and that just wasn't going to happen. The world hated Sam and he was well aware of that. All the good luck a normal person would have was firing the other way for Sam. Nothing good ever happened. If it was going to rain, there would be a storm and Sam would get struck by lightning or he would be run over by a truck which lost control in a deep puddle, or it would be too hot and he'd get sunstroke, or a dog would sniff him out and bite him, or someone would act like they wanted some fun and they were really an undercover cop and he would fall for it, every fucking time he would fall for it, so Sam liked to stay at home and he liked to spend time out with Floyd, not alone. He didn't like being alone and Taras was gone too so he didn't even have that tall skinny whore to torment and take the piss out of, and the TV was crap! There was nothing worth watching and Sam would let you know that he might well look like he was a waste of skin, but his brain wasn't particularly turned on by reality shows and damp shit and that seemed to be all that was on and what was even worse was that the bread had gone off and he had a jar of lemon curd and nothing to put it on and now having eaten a load of it off a spoon, he felt like he was going to throw up.

It wasn't like, you know… (?) the end of the world sort of situation, but Taras disappeared and then Floyd went off to fetch him and never came back and Floyd doesn't carry a phone and the local cops were not the right people to contact to let know that his fuckbuddy had gone missing, because he looked like he was a teenager and shouldn't actually have a fuckbuddy and didn't really want to be locked away in some home for teens who liked a bit of anal and he didn't want to get Floyd into trouble either, not really, not when Floyd was the one paying for this place.

Oh… he had actually persuaded Floyd to buy this little abode. No renting. That was one good thing, but bills still had to be paid and Sam had no money of his own and Floyd left none, not really any… just a few hundred and most of that was gone.

But the shorts he bought were lovely.

'What's the fucking point in looking great if Floyd's not here to admire me and peel my clothing off again? What's the fucking point?' He shouted that out to himself and threw the remote across the room where it hit the wall, bounced off and emptied the batteries onto the patterned rug.

Sam knew that Floyd had taken his _gadget_ with him, which was odd as it was to block telephones and Floyd didn't even own a cell phone, so it must have been to block someone else's phone and Taras didn't have one, so it couldn't have been him (Sam also had a feeling Taras had been arrested) and it wasn't to block Sam's as he had it here with him, and it wasn't being blocked. His only option was to do what he always said he would do if there was trouble, except… 'No… maybe not.' Sam muttered to himself, but grabbed the rest of the money he had, stuffed it in a pocket and called a cab. He would go pay an old friend a visit and see if they knew anything.

o-o-o

Rossi was just dishing up his dinner for one, when the doorbell rang and then rang again and then something was hammering on it. He put his spaghetti down, placed the fork onto the table and walked quickly to the door, looking through the spy-hole and seeing nothing, he unlocked the door and carefully opened it a crack. The force of something shoving from the other side, pushed Dave back with a grunt and Sam flew into his hallway with wide eyes, kicking backwards at the door to slam it behind him.

'I know.' Sam said before Dave could speak. 'You told me never to come here again, but I had to and I don't have your number, or you have me blocked or something, because I can't get through, but I have to talk to you. It's an emergency.'

'No.' Dave replied. 'We have had discussions before. I told you.'

'Oh I know what you said… Don't come here. You're not interested. What was that other thing? Never darken your doorway again… something like that… however, it's urgent because Floyd has gone missing and that's urgent, don't you think? It's not just…' Sam raced after Rossi who had turned his back and was walking back to where he had left his food. 'Dave, it's important! Do you know if anything has happened? Has he been picked up? Taras was arrested, I know that so I wondered if this was connected, but if it is, then I need to tell you that Taras didn't do what you think he did. Dave? Dave? Dave! Fucking hell. You're ignoring me aren't you?'

'You know Taras.' Dave seemed to be telling Sam.

'Taras Titov.' Sam confirmed. 'He's Floyd's fuckbuddy. Which you should have been pleased with because rather him screwing him than me, yes? Don't you think? As you seem so sure that I'm underage. Dave – so much has been going on, but Floyd had behaved himself, honestly! Really. I know you find that hard to believe, but Taras is his new job, on account that Spencer is dead and all… ah… Well.' Sam shut up for a moment and took a deep breath. 'It's not like it's the end forever. I don't live my life in the same way that you do yours. There is the time things, you know? Floyd and I… we… you know something? You look really pissed off.'

'You come barging into my home. Talking rubbish. You then seem to think that Spencer's death means nothing.'

'It doesn't. Not really. Not in the grand scheme of things, does it? Time isn't linear, Dave. It isn't a straight line. We can go get Spencer, but not right now! I need to find Floyd and I think he's looking for Taras, or looking for a way to get him back without killing a load of people. He's not been here then? I guess not by that look on your face. Fuck it. He wouldn't have gone to Hotch, because I really think Hotch would try to remove his head if he went there. Damn. He must have gone to Emily. I don't know where she lives. Do you? You must do. Can you give me her phone number? Her address? No… no. No. I guess not. Can you call her then and just ask if Floyd has been there or if he's still there and you can promise me he's not been arrested?'

Dave sat on his couch. The food had gone uneaten. Something about Sam always put him off his food. 'As far as I know he's not been arrested. Usually, if something like that happened we would be informed. We haven't been.'

'Phone Emily for me. Dave… please. Please. I'm begging you. It's so fucking important. Just one call.'

'If I make a call, it will be to get you removed from my property.'

'But you let me in! I knocked and you opened the door and let me in. I didn't break any law and I'll tell the cops that. You will make your life a lot easier if the cops don't come here and find me naked in your hallway. Don't you think?'

Dave picked up his phone. 'You are impossible, Sam. I will call Prentiss for you. One call and then you will leave.'

'You do that and I'll eat your pasta as you don't seem to want it. Thank you, Dave. Thank you.'

Dave left Sam for five minutes. He went to his small but perfectly formed office, sat at his desk and dialled the number for Prentiss. Oddly, the number seemed to be unavailable, which was not normal and caused Dave to frown and run his fingers through his hair. It would mean he would have to go and drive to her place and actually check up on her and she would want to know why and he would have to say that Sam had been to visit and hell would seep through the cracks. This wasn't going to be any sort of fun.

'I can't take you with me.' Dave seemed to be insisting on that.

'But… it's urgent. She might be in trouble. She might be bleeding out and dying, right now as you stand there arguing with me. Is it worth the bother?' Sam was holding Dave's fork in one hand and a bottle of his finest red in the other. 'Just take me there too! Kill one bird with two stones, or something. Yes?' Now Sam was at the door staring at Dave, wondering why he wasn't rushing to see why Prentiss didn't answer her phone. 'I don't understand you, Dave. You know the crooked way my life is. You know what crap I've gone through and you still don't believe me. You don't understand. The Spencer business, I'm sure you're not as on board with that as I am. You really don't understand that as well as you should, but… well… I can explain it all in the car. I'm not asking to drive.'

'Good.' Dave picked up his keys. 'Come on then, but you will stay in the car. Under no circumstances will you get out.'

'Even if there's a horrific RTA? I'll get out then. I could be of some comfort to someone who is dying.'

'Put the strap on.'

'It messes up my clothing. Causes creases.'

'Strap on, or get out.'

'Fuck's sake, Dave.' But the strap went on.

o-o-o

The journey was not too long and there had been no reason for Sam to get out of the car for the whole of the trip. Sam was now insisting that he had to get out and stretch his legs and was giving Dave statistics on DVT and sitting for too long. 'One in a thousand chance of getting DVT if you're American. Did you know that? Those figures are quite horrific and I know you're going to argue that I'm not American, and you would be correct, but it's lifestyle which causes it. You don't want me dead do you, Dave? Do you? I would hope not. What's wrong? You look bothered. Pained. Upset.'

'This is my irritated face, Sam. Stay in the car. I will be a couple of minutes.' Dave got out, locking Sam in the car, then he walked quickly to Emily's front door and rang the bell.


End file.
